


Powerless

by HoldHerTightAndSayHerName



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Chloe Decker, Chloe will always have his back, Episode: s05e07 Our Mojo, F/M, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, I WROTE THIS BECAUSE I AM VERY DEEP IN MY FEELS OKAY, Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 05 Part 1, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer is paralyzed and does not like it one bit, Missing Scene, Protective Chloe Decker, Scared Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Season/Series 05, otp: you make me vulnerable, tw: mild claustrophobia, tw: panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoldHerTightAndSayHerName/pseuds/HoldHerTightAndSayHerName
Summary: In Episode 5x07 (Our Mojo), a very tired Chloe and a very paralyzed Lucifer are waiting for backup. Spoiler alert: they are not okay. At least they've got each other.“Let me check on her,” she nods at the woman seated at the kitchen table, “and then we'll just… sit and wait for this thing to wear off, yeah?”Lucifer's eyes close in assent, and don't open again.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 43
Kudos: 275





	Powerless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SK_Kasai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SK_Kasai/gifts), [ariaadagio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariaadagio/gifts).



> This one-shot is unapologetically self-indulgent... but I do hope you'll enjoy reading it! :)
> 
> Special thanks to KS_Kasai for killing me softly with her tweet/prompt, and to ariaadagio for encouraging me to get over myself and write. My eternal gratitude to wickedgoodbooks and Serotonin_Up for helping me polish the final draft!

“We got him.” Chloe lowers her gun. “We did it, Lucifer.”

Moving on autopilot, she circles the body, every muscle still coiled as tightly as a spring. The scent of stale sweat and flowers lingers in the air. On the floor, the kitchen knife reflects the cold blue light flooding through the window. With the side of her boot, she kicks it as far away as she can and crouches down next to Klumpsky to handcuff him, deliberately fastening the metal a little too tight behind his back. The sick bastard doesn’t even budge. She lets out the breath she didn’t realise she was holding, her heart still pounding hard against her breastbone, and calls for backup. The nearest patrol is ten minutes away.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, she’s starting to feel mildly nauseous. In a flash, she remembers the blood drops splattering the silky petals of the lilies; the rushing sound of the knife cutting through air; and Lucifer’s dark eyes, looking so — oh, God. _Lucifer_. 

Whatever has been injected into his bloodstream must have a very fast onset. _Only because you’re here_ , a little voice whispers. _Because you’re the Devil’s very own kryptonite._ She swallows back the bile rising in her throat and rushes to her partner’s side. 

“Are you okay?”

 _Obviously not_. 

“I mean, apart from the whole, ahem, paralysis situation...” 

_Oh my God, Decker, stop talking._

Her chest tightens; she shakes her head and takes a long, dragging breath. 

“Can you try to blink for me? Once for yes, twice for no?”

She studies her partner’s face. The aquiline arch of his nose. The curve of his lips, slightly parted, taking in quick, raspy breaths. No longer smiling, not speaking either; familiar yet strangely empty of the range of emotions that usually cross it like ripples.

Very slowly, his eyelids flutter and close, then open again.

 _Yes_.

“Okay. That’s good.” She smiles weakly, squeezing his elbow. “Did he… Are you hurt?”

Two blinks. A wave of relief surges through her, so strong her eyes start prickling.

“Right. I should text Ella, let her know we’re okay. Maybe Pete can help us move you to the couch, or...”

Lucifer’s eyes immediately lock with hers and blink. Once, twice, and again.

“No? As in ‘no, don’t text Ella’, or―... oh.” _For a detective, you can be really slow, sometimes._ “You don’t want them to see you like this.”

He confirms with one more agonizing blink.

“Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t...” she sighs. “I’ll just tell Ella to wait downstairs.” 

She worries her bottom lip while her thumbs fly on the blue screen. _This is great_ , her inner voice chirps. _You guys have been together for what, a day? and you’ve stolen his mojo, made him feel anxious, exposed, literally defenseless, and almost got him killed. No wonder he’s freaking out._

Chloe silences the voice and slips her phone back into her pocket.

“Okay, done. Let me check on her,” she nods at the woman seated at the kitchen table, “and then we’ll just… sit and wait for this thing to wear off, yeah?”

Lucifer’s eyes close in assent, and don’t open again. Still a yes... right?

* * *

_The air is saturated with the thick scent of the lilies_ _—_ _a sweet, heavy smell of death. The kind of flowers humans lay on a sealed casket to conceal the fetid conditions inside. His hands itch to snatch the bouquet from the table and throw it out the window_ _—_ _no, set it on fire_ _—_ _and take care of the human stain sprawled on the other side of the room._

_Break his chubby little fingers, one by one. Rip out his spine. Choke him slowly. Make him beg for mercy._

_But he can’t._

_He_ can’t.

 _He’s the one buried alive in that airless casket, and the lilies will fade and rot and decompose before he’s batted an eyelid. Perhaps this is how the King of Hell will spend the rest of eternity_ _—_ _as a houseplant. Trapped inside his own earthly body, unable to scratch his own balls._

_Weak._

Powerless.

_Suddenly the room is spinning and his diaphragm feels tight, paper-thin, threatening to tear every time he breathes. The muscle paralysis occurred with sequential precision, beginning with small twitches around the eyes and larynx, progressing to his limbs, his chest, filling the space between his ribs. Is the product still spreading to his airways? Is he about to choke while the Detective watches?_

The Detective.

_The air conditioning creeps under his soaked shirt, leaving icy trails down his back._

_She was so warm this morning, so full of life under his hands, smiling_ _—_ _now he can’t even turn his head to look at her. He didn’t see if she was hurt. Maybe she doesn’t want to worry him. Maybe she’s slowly bleeding out, a few inches from him; this time he won’t be able to do a damned thing about it._

_The walls are closing around him. He shuts his eyes, and wills his feeble, treacherous body to remember how to breathe._

* * *

It takes a few minutes to cut the rope around the victim’s wrists. The poor woman has also been turned into a wax statue — Chloe can only reassure her that medical help is on its way, and cover her frail shoulders with an afghan snatched from the couch.

By the time she comes back by Lucifer’s side, his eyes are still shut, and his face is completely drained of colour.

“Okay, I’m back.” Her hand hovers over his shoulder, but she doesn’t dare to touch him. “She looks pretty rattled, but she’ll be okay, I think. You hanging in there?”

Lucifer’s eyes open slowly, almost reluctantly. His face, usually so expressive and full of life, is still completely blank, staring into nothingness, and there’s something really chilling about his complete lack of reaction — but the signs are there, impossible to miss. A drop of sweat running down his temple, the erratic pulse beating in the hollow of his throat — he is definitely _not_ okay.

“Hey, hey. Lucifer.” She sits crossed-legged by his side, her whole body turned towards him. “I know this really, _really_ sucks, but it’ll be over soon, alright?”

At last, the dark pupils shift and focus on her. A bright red flame flickers and dies out almost instantly, replaced by panic. Consuming, unadulterated terror. When was the last time the Devil was afraid? His own free hill has been stripped from him before; he probably doesn’t care to renew the experience.

Without thinking, she reaches out and takes his left hand between hers, suppressing a flinch at the iciness of his skin.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly. “Blink twice if you need space.”

His eyes drill into hers, turning into two black disks, never closing. _Stay, Detective,_ they’re screaming. _Don’t leave._

His breath is short, laboured, coming out in small, wheezing sounds. Without a word, she shifts a little closer, and leans in to rest her forehead against his. The nape of his neck feels damp under her hand.

“Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

He’s probably heard that phrase too many times for one day, but this is the best thing she can offer right now. 

Time stretches and recedes. Staying completely still, she focuses on his body beside hers, on the frozen limbs and their gracious promise of strength, on the familiar smell of cologne, of leather and spice. The gloomy room fades away. They’re still at the penthouse, she tells him without words. They’re just resting after a long night of mindblowing sex; the sun just hasn’t risen yet. Lucifer’s lashes flutter.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she encourages him to breathe in sync with her, and waits until the pulse under her fingers has slowed down to a more normal rhythm.

“Not exactly the evening I’d imagined for us,” she tries to joke, whispering against his mouth, “but I guess ‘normal’ never was our thing, huh?”

With a sigh, she rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

“N’mal’s boring,” Lucifer croaks, causing her neck to snap back.

“Oh, thank G—I know, _I know_ , _He_ ’s got nothing to do with this,” she laughs shakily. “Okay, can you move anything at all? Your hands?”

The passing shadow of a frown darkens his face, but the rest of his body remains paralyzed.

“’ppears not.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry. There’s no rush.”

She inspects his cold, motionless fingers and starts to massage them slowly, pressing deep circular movements with her thumbs, working them into and around the flesh of his palms, the solid bones of his wrists.

“Is it like getting anesthesia at the dentist?”, she babbles, focused on her task. “I mean, I guess you wouldn’t know, being— well, _you_ , but your face stops feeling numb and gets all tingly, and then sometimes you—”

“D’tective.”

She pauses and looks at him, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Y’okay?”

His eyes move down to the bloody cut on the back of her hand, grazed by Klumpsky’s knife, then to her face. The question makes her heart sink.

“Of course, Lucifer,” she rushes to say, “I’m _fine_. This is just—just a scratch.” Tears prickle furiously behind her eyes. “Really. It’s nothing.”

“Then…” he starts, inhaling deeply, “why are you...?”

“This isn’t about _me_ ,” she answers, sniffing. “You’re the one who got turned into a freaking _statue_ by a freaking _serial killer_ , and I’m just glad you’re okay, and, and…” She gestures vaguely toward him, towards the walls, towards Klumpsky’s body. “Today was supposed to be _great_ , and I’m sorry it’s been so...” With her free hand, she fiddles with his jacket’s sleeve. “So...”

“Not your fault,” he states plainly. “ ’s’morning was quite lovely.”

At last, his fingers tighten around her own. They feel warmer now, more… alive. He manages to turn his face towards her, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

She’s _missed_ this face. 

Heat pools in her belly. He stares back at her expectantly, licking his lips. She stretches her neck, brushes her nose against his, and— 

“Okay guys, room 903, let’s go, let’s go!”

Voices and rapid footsteps are approaching in the hall, and Chloe pulls back with a regretful but genuine smile. 

They are okay.

They just closed another case.

She’ll be damned if they can figure out the whole ‘mojo’ thing. As partners. 

After all, the day isn’t over yet.


End file.
